


Smut Drabbles

by aureliu_s



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Smut, Anything I can think of, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Marriage, Masturbation, Multi, One Word Prompts, Oral Sex, Other, Pet Names, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, War Table (Dragon Age) Sex, War Table Sex, lots of AUs, tags will be updated as soon as i post more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-01-27 05:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21386548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aureliu_s/pseuds/aureliu_s
Summary: Smut. Smut and fluff. Smut and angst. I needed a place to dump my filthy writing, so here we are. These will all vary in length. Tags will be updated accordingly, and I'll try to put summaries/warnings at the start of chapters. Comments & kudos are life, enjoy! :)
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak, Female Inquisitor/Sebastian Vael, Female Nord Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak, Female Trevelyan/Sebastian Vael, Miraak/Dukaan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 130





	1. Good Girl (Skyrim)

“Ah, fuck,” he groaned, watching his length slide all the way out before he pushed it back in, eliciting a small little whimper from the woman below him. “Fuck, take my cock, princess. Take all of it—there you go, just like that. You take my cock so well. Just like that,” he dug his fingers into her hair, “it’s all yours.”

“Miraak,” she whined, grasping at the sheets.

“I am here, sweet thing,” he patted her side.

“It hurts.” With a rocky moan he let his dick fall into his hand, sliding it against her, losing none of his rhythm but giving her a break. “You don’t have to stop, I-“

“_Niid_,” he hunched over her to whisper against her ear, “you were doing perfectly, sweet thing. You deserve it, taking my cock like you did.” He splayed his hands against her ass and rubbed it slowly, easing away the taut muscles, guiding her hips back so her cheeks ground against his length. “You’re so good for me.”

“Okay,” she whispered after a moment, and he groaned.

“What was that?”

“I said...um, okay.”

“Which means?” He gave her rear a light hit only to rub it affectionately. “Use your words, princess, I know you have them.”

She hid her face in the pillow before lifting it again.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Close,” he grinned wickedly, “still not what I want to hear.” She shot him a glare over her shoulder.

“You can...putyourdickback.”

He barked out a laugh.

“This, sweet thing?” Miraak pressed his tip to her clit, which had remained relatively neglected up until now. Her hips seemingly bucked forward and back at the same time, unsure if they should flinch away from the sudden touch or beg for more. “You want my-“

“Yes.” She squealed.

“Do not interrupt me, little one.” He growled. “Or else _this _ won’t be coming anywhere near you.” She inhaled shakily. “Say that you want my cock inside you again. My thick, hard cock. Say you want every inch pounding into you—like it should be,” he reached around to secure a breast in one hand, pinching her nipple, “say you’re going to take me _like a good girl._”

Tharya was silent for a long moment, before sitting up and winding her arms back around his neck. He knew that motion all too well, and could only imagine the raging crimson of her face. It was difficult to break her out of her shell, but he could do it. He knew he could; he'd done it before.

"I-I want you inside me again," she bit her lower lip and whimpered at the words, as if they alone were enough to pleasure her. A mean, dark grin split the Atmoran's features. He pressed an errant trail of kisses to her forearm, kneading his hands against her breasts. And then, so quiet and breathy he could barely hear it, she added: "I'll take you like a g-good...girl."

"Of course you will," he hummed, and then leaned close to her ear, "do you want to know how I know that?"

A little nod. He kissed her neck.

"Because I told you to."


	2. In the Gardens (Dragon Age)

Sebastian knew, better than everyone, that Azriel Trevelyan, their precious Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, did not dress the way she did for attention. 

He also knew most people would not believe him if he said as much, but he knew it, and that was all that mattered. He knew that she dressed the way she did because she felt like it, and sometimes as a dare for other men to try and intrude on her personal space, so she could wait patiently for him to stride over and put an arm around her in the protective way he did. She relished in his warm hands and scarred fingers. But she never let these other men go too far, and if they did...well, Maker, the woman could make a damn convincing scene if she wanted to. And in Orlais, a scene would make it to every news column in Val Royeaux before the hour was done. 

He figured Josephine had probably talked her down from her original dress, but he liked this one just as much. He remembered sitting in bed and watching her check a million times in the mirror. It was [pale blue with swirling silver designs at the bottom,](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/33/c2/2b/33c22b45e3a6db7d40130edf56a45ce0.jpg) the complementary colors of House Trevelyan. A trio of glistening necklaces hung against her exposed upper chest before the scooping, low neckline. Rather innocent, just enough to stir talk, until she walked by and you caught glimpse of the dress's open back, proudly displaying her strong shoulders and tanned skin. Her makeup was soft except for her signature dark eyeshadow, which made those lavender eyes glow and dance in the chandelier light. Her lips were painted silver and sparkled when she spoke. She was dazzling tonight, and there was no need to make a scene because the Orlesians were smart--the Orlesians had picked up on the ring adorning her left hand and the matching one on his before they had even entered the Winter Palace. Men and women alike gave her a respectable berth. 

"You look strained." A warm but calloused hand slipped into his and he squeezed it on instinct, bringing her knuckles to his lips, admiring her manicured nails. 

"Orlais is no place to let our guard down." 

Azriel rolled her eyes and put her cheek on the shoulder of his sleek black uniform, sliding a hand beneath the crushed velvet crimson cape that hung off his shoulders and gently rubbing his back. 

"If you're giving me answers like that, you must be exhausted, handsome." He allowed himself to sink away from his stiff posture and put his chin on her hair after kissing it. One gloved hand fell to her lower back and drifted to rest on the curve of her rear, giving it an appreciative pat. 

"The talks happened three hours ago. Florianne is dead. And still this party drags on," he groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, "and still they toast." 

"As long as Celene is here, so are we." Azriel murmured. He was sure her eyes were closed, she sounded so tired. "But that feels nice." He smiled a little and continued flexing his fingers in and out of the flesh of her ass below the dress, working at the muscle still taut from battle beneath. "Until Celene walks up behind us. How grateful do you think she'd be then?" They laughed together, and Azriel put her chin on his shoulder to peer outside. Sebastian had situated himself near the glass doors leading out to the garden for a reason, many hours ago. An escape route, easy access to Dorian and Cullen, and a good view of the whole ballroom. Truly an archer's choice. "Come on." She circled him, took his wrist in one hand and her skirts in the other, and pulled him towards the door. 

"I can't leave," he protested half-heartedly. Corbinian was asleep where he stood at the door. So, the Starkhaven delegation had finally bitten the dust. Azriel only turned to smile at him. 

They walked together through the gardens under the moonlight at a leisurely pace, not pausing until they came to a secluded little courtyard. Neither of them knew how they got to it, there was so many twists and turns in the gardens. But the Winter Palace looked relatively far away, and the hum of chatter had died off. With a huff Azriel sat on a circular stone table that was low to the ground, surrounded by a few metal chairs, and moved her skirts to pull at her high heels. 

"Let me," he murmured, kneeling at her feet. They were heeled boots, he saw, reaching to her knees, done up the sides with tight belts. They were slow work. Absently he pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, lips trailing downwards as he exposed more and more skin to the cool midnight air. One boot came off and then the next, but he still found himself kneeling, running his hands soothingly up and down her legs and scraping his teeth over the soft skin of her thigh. 

"Sebastian," she sighed once and gently tapped his head, making him stand. Azriel slung her arms around her neck and they kissed, languid and lazy but no less loving. Her lips tasted like fine champagne and felt crusty with the glittery silver, but he didn't care. He cradled her head in one hand and nudged her backwards so he could slip his tongue past her teeth.  This was where he wanted to be, not suckling at the makeup on her lips. In the warmth and wetness of her mouth. 

Her shoulders hit the table below them and before he knew it he was clambering onto it, laying himself over her, undoing his belt to toss his sword away. He didn't know how to use the damn thing, anyway. It clattered unceremoniously to the stones and she gasped, half sitting up. 

"Someone's going to hear that, you idiot," Azriel tried to reprimand him but she was laughing. 

"I hope they do," he chortled back. Sebastian captured one glove between his teeth and pulled it off, and then the other. His first freed hand dove between her legs, fingers stroking her clit through the thin lace underwear he'd watched her put on. She moaned quietly against his auburn hair, threading her fingers into it, rubbing the back of his neck. He watched her strong thighs go taut and twitch closed around his arm. 

"Relax, kitten, enjoy and relax," he cooed, and pressed slow, wet kisses to the underside of her jaw. "You've done enough for one day. You deserve this." She seemed to like that idea, and the night air hit his sleeve as her legs fell back to the table. He started to stroke her again, pressing his fingers against the cloth until it was damp and she was moving her hips with his hand, moaning his name gently and thoughtfully into the solitary night. He loved the way she twicthed and writhed; there was little energy behind it, but still her body found graceful and fulfilling ways to show its pleasure. He pushed the white fabric aside. 

"One or two?" 

"Two," she breathed. He pushed two fingers in and her nails dug into his arms for a moment before he urged her to relax again, rubbing his thumb in slow but tantalizing circles against her clit and pumping his fingers slowly in and out of her. There was a serene smile on her face and he found himself mirroring it as she clenched around him, drawing him in, almost moving his hand of her own accord. The table below did not budge. Her skirts occasionally got in the way but she would giggle and push them off only to latch her hands around his arm again. 

"You deserve this too," she whispered up at him through half-lidded eyes. Sebastian hadn't noticed but now one of her elegant hands traveled to the crotch of his black pants, a whisper of a touch against his straining erection. He was loathe to leave her empty but she winked at him and licked his fingers, undoing his pants and bringing his cock out of its confinement. He didn't need to be asked twice. Sebastian held her thighs apart with both hands and watched with immense satisfaction as his length slipped with familiar ease past her folds. They moaned together even as clothes fell in their way; they made it work. She grasped for his pushing hips and he bent to smother her in kisses, locking their lips together for what felt like two eternities. 

"I can't get anything on this dress," she half-whined, her hands curling into and out of his jacket, hips bucking more frequently to meet his determined thrusts. 

"I have gloves," he slurred back. He was disappointed there wasn't more of her to hold, that her full breasts that swelled with her quick breathing were trapped beneath this dress. With a cry sent upwards into the night she locked her legs around him, back arching, and almost instantly he rammed deep inside her and spilled himself. A few more sloppy but well-placed thrusts--he knew how to please his fiancee, after all--she mirrored the act, holding him tightly before both their bodies went lax and his head fell to her chest. His cock went soft but neither of them moved for a long time. 

"Your makeup doesn't even look touched," he marveled once she sat up, "fix my hair, since I can already tell you ruined it." She smiled and kissed him while she smoothed his hair back. Her tongue danced lazily with his; he took it upon himself to fix her skirts. Sebastian found odd irony when he knelt to put her boots back on. 

"Inquisitor!" A close voice went up from the winding garden paths and they both froze. Azriel snatched his belt from the ground and went about fastening it in its original position. 

"How do I look?" She asked. Sebastian grinned. 

"Like you've just had a wonderful, relaxing orgasm." Normally he would've found a prettier way to say it but he had been at the Winter Palace for nearly ten hours now. His manners were beginning to thin. 

Azriel grinned back and wound her arm with his. The voice called out for her again. 

"Good."


	3. Common (Skyrim)

He was whispering sweet nothings in the smooth, exotic language of Higher Atmoran against her ear, mixed in with his rocky groans and noises of pleasure that reverberated through her entire body. 

“Miraak,” she whined, but his response was lost in his own language, “Common.” The medium pace of his hips didn’t stop but she could feel his breath falter for just a moment, before he pressed his lips closed to her ear: 

“Perhaps you should learn Atmoran, sweet thing.” He kissed the shell of her ear. “That way you can know,” bit at her earlobe, “all the things I say to you,” teeth grazed the soft flesh of her neck, “all the lovely little things I say to you when I have my cock in you. When you spread these beautiful legs for me,” he traced the inside of her thigh. The Priest gave a low, appreciative groan that started in his chest—he was just goading her on at this point. “Feel how tight you are for me, sweet thing.” His grip tightened for a moment on her hip, turning to steel. “Does that feel good? You enjoy being-“ he snapped his hips upwards, the slap of skin against skin drowned out by her cry of shocked ecstasy, “-so  _full._ Don’t you.” Another snap, this one accompanied by a rough grunt as he sunk his teeth into the junction of her neck and shoulder. Tharya arched away from him but he held her in place. “No one else pleasures you so, do they, my beautiful? No one else is  capable. ” He pressed his body flush against hers, squeezing her leg and pressing a kiss to her temple. “No one else gives you the cock you deserve, sweet thing, because  _no one else is me_. ”


	4. Tonight (Skyrim)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13 - let me take care of you tonight
> 
> dii lokaal - my love  
Zu'u los nid zuruniik wah nahlii fask - i am no stranger to being gentle  
Zu'u los selrak wah hi. - I am devoted to you

He never tires of the feeling her hands on his skin creates, trailing over his chest, the marbled and shifting planes of his abdomen. Sometimes she is confident touching him and sometimes she is shy and he can't tell which he loves more; having her trace him like a work of art or putting her hands in all the right places himself. Both boost his ego. Both brush a domineering, primal part of his biology. He relishes in the little noises she makes when he finds good spots to suck, to squeeze, to rub.

"Miraak," her palms come to his chest and his kiss falls away, golden eyes flicking to her. She wants to say something, but is concerned how he'll react. He's seen that face before. "I--my leg is still killing me." He raises an eyebrow.

"What would you like me to get?" She smiles awkwardly.

"No, I mean...my leg hurts, and you're brutal," she chuckles, "I just can't move around a lot right now." It's a very roundabout way of saying stop, he realizes almost instantly. But the word that sticks with him most is brutal. It makes his eyes go wide, just the slightest bit. His pupils shrink and suddenly his haze of exhaustion and pleasure is gone. She watches in horror as his gaze slowly becomes blank and stoic, before shifting away to fix on the pillow beside her head. "Oh--oh gods. No, no, that's not what I meant," she tries desperately to wind him back, "that wasn't the right word at all. I just meant...um...you can be rough," she slides her hands against his cheeks and brings him back to her, "and I don't think my knee is fully healed yet. That's all I meant, big guy." She brings his forehead down to hers, smiling kindly and kissing his cheek. "I didn't mean it like that. Promise."

He feels his brow knit together, not in confusion but in...gods, he doesn't know. Something.

"You can tell me, _dii lokaal__,_" he whispers finally. Tharya holds her breath. She's struck a chord and she knows it, and now there's no going back. "If I-"

"Listen, listen," she croons, "it isn't a problem. I'm just hurting." He feels frustration seep into his veins--why is she pushing his words away?--but lets it fizzle out.

"_Zu'u__ los nid zuruniik wah nahlii fask__,_" he says slowly, evenly, "being gentle is not foreign to me, _dii lokaal_."

"I believe you." His lips twitch.

"You need only ask," she opens her mouth but doesn't say anything, "you need only tell me what you want. _Zu'u los selrak wah hi_." He kisses her softly and leisurely, a golden healing spell dancing around his fingertips before he clamps his hand around her knee. She gasps into his mouth but once she realizes what he's doing, grows quiet. He waits until she puts her arms around his neck again, rubbing a thumb into her thigh.

"Let me take care of you, sweet thing," he purrs, "let me take care of you tonight."


	5. The Chantry (Dragon Age)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14 - "You are beautiful, my goddess."
> 
> idk why, i don't usually write sebastian as spiteful but here we are

She wasn't sure, exactly, how they found themselves in the secluded Chantry in the gardens near midnight. She wasn't sure how Sebastian's broody silence had turned into roaming, teasing touches and wet kisses. He did not entirely trust Chantries, not anymore, merely on instinct. He rarely visited the one in Starkhaven, and was more often found at the smaller, private one in the castle if the urge to pray washed over him. But they had wandered in here together after neither of them could sleep, and now he was laying her down against the frigid stone floor, making gooseflesh of her arms, undoing the buttons of her blue and silver tunic. His palms were warm but the tips of his fingers were cool as he kneaded her breasts and tweaked her nipples. He kissed her strongly and heatedly, as if he had something to show. As if he was getting back at someone.

And when she looked up from her spot on the floor, Andraste's stony gaze was staring forever outwards just above them. Azriel was not as religious as she probably should've been, but here, here, with Sebastian Vael's repentent mouth between her legs, his praying hands latched around her breasts, she felt a pang of pride. Of look at me, sweet Andraste. She knew Sebastian had not abandoned his faith completely; she could never expect him to, not when it had played such a huge part in his life. But he had not returned the same from Kirkwall, after the Chantry exploded, and hundreds of innocent lives had been devoured by the Void. How could you believe, as strongly and feverently as he did, after that? After murders had gone unchecked, unavenged, and the murderer had been allowed to walk free? Azriel would not use him to get back at the Maker, or Andraste. But she would relish in this small victory.

"Sebastian," she dug her fingers into his mahogany hair and moaned his name fluidly, wanting him and his warmth to come back. He was quiet save for his own groans and rumbles, very intent on whatever battle he was fighting within himself. It seemed he, too, would treasure this little win. Soft lips kissed their way up the flesh of her stomach, wandering around her sternum, nipping at the column of her throat until he captured her parted lips.

"Here, kitten," he husked out, "turn over." A vengeful excitement bubbled in her veins as he pulled her against his chest and then sat up. She took the chance to shrug her tunic off, baring herself completely in front of the stone Andraste. After all, was that not how She had walked through the flames?

Caressing her hips, Sebastian guided her back onto his hard length, their conjoined sounds of pleasure filling the little Chantry.

"Perfect, kitten, perfect." He growled, bringing her hips down while he thrusted forward. Azriel let every sound escape her, let every whine and cry get thrown directly to Andraste's outstretched hand. The rhythmic slap of skin as Sebastian plowed into her from behind did nothing to muffle it. "You are so beautiful." He sighed. Azriel pushed herself up so she was kneeling upright like him, latching her hands down on his and dragging them over her firm stomach, up to catch her breasts that jounced with every forward motion of his hips met by the backward motion of hers. She twisted to kiss him. His piston thrusts slowed for a moment, eliciting a drawling moan from her lips. They became passionate but gentler, smoother, a little circular motion slung to it. She could feel the way his hands slid around and down her back to cup her ass, to map the curve of her spine, to find where their bodies met. _Reverent,_ she thought with a smile.

"You are beautiful," he repeated, and then very purposefully leaned into her ear, adding in a low and taunting voice: _"__my goddess."_


	6. The River (Skyrim)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> during the second war with the thalmor, miraak is found unconscious on the battlefield by a group of bosmer rebels, who plan to take him to the silvenar to form an alliance against the thalmor. but on the road, he finds himself missing someone...
> 
> HAHA THAT WAS SO CHEESY SORRY

With caution he found his way through the trees and underbrush to the stream one of the elves had called his attention to. What was fifty paces for them was more like fifteen or twenty for him; looking back, he could still see the fire and the camp. Either way it mattered little. He stripped and ducked into the stream, which was surprisingly deep—most likely an offshoot or tributary of some larger river, then. Just deep enough to circle his thighs, just deep enough to succumb and lie down in and look up at the stars peeking down at him through the treetops.

How had he gotten here? It was difficult to remember. When Tharya had pulled him out of Apocrypha all those years ago—even that felt odd to say,_ all those years ago_—he hardly imagined she would take him here of all places. Valenwood, in the middle of summer, fighting to liberate the continent from the looming shadow of elitist, nationalist elves. The heat killed him day in and day out, the bugs were more than annoying, and their situation was not entirely stable. Last week he'd covered himself in mud and trekked through a swamp to throw Dominion animals off his scent while attacking a rural Thalmor outpost. What was he even doing it all for? What did he have to look forward to?

Looking up at the twin moons, the answer was simple. Tharya, of course. And he'd be lying if he said some part of him didn't like the adventure, but if Tharya had never asked he would've never come. Even if they didn't agree on what should be done with the Thalmor after the war, they could agree the war itself had been harrowing and one set of trials after another, but they had gone through it together and for that, they were stronger. Wistfully he turned his head and tried not to be disappointed when she wasn't lying there beside him, enjoying the brief interlude between all the fighting and planning. Enjoying the cool water and the night's stillness. When he closed his eyes she was, quietly asking after the names of constellations in his ear, but when he opened them it was merely an empty space between him and the bank. He cursed dehydration. If he was going to hallucinate, they should at least be good ones.

With a sigh Miraak raised his head just enough to gaze down his own body, and after too much water filling his ears he levered up and sat with his tired arms resting on his knees. He'd lost weight. Not an insane amount, but enough where he noticed. Tharya noticed too, the last time she'd put her arms around him and touched his stomach and sides. _You're thinner than I remember,_ she'd murmured into his back. He remembered it. The last time they'd had a moment to themselves, a moment long enough to sink into bed and take their time in undressing each other and he'd been able to kiss the soft hollow of her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, hold her sides and tell her she, too, was thinner than he remembered, and that concerned him much more than his own apparent loss. Miraak hadn't realized the muscles in his back had gone so lax thinking about it, but now he sat slouched like a question mark, like a bent tree trunk.

He told himself he shouldn't think of that night, especially not so close to the camp, but he couldn't help it. It had been maybe...a month ago? More? They had both been so busy dealing with the war and too tired at any given moment to find it within themselves to cast it all off and set aside the world's problems for _eating_, let alone _sex._ And now here he was, a quasi-captive, memories of the last time he'd made love to her flooding his exhausted brain as if it had been eons ago. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't help remembering the softness of her skin, kissing the new freckles on her shoulders, pressing his tongue into her mouth and hearing all the sweet noises she pressed into his shoulder. A tent was far from soundproof. As much as he loved to hear her in full, and as much as he almost didn't care who heard them, he knew it mattered to her. But he knew his lips between her thighs mattered too—the thought crossed him as one hand, acting on its own, wrapped firmly around the base of his cock.

His mouth between her legs and the scratch of his beard on pale skin, that drove her crazy. The refreshingly cool water now seemed colder as blood surged through him, sending a shiver up his spine and a rush to his groin. With a shaky breath he pulled himself out of the daydream to realize he was almost painfully hard and not doing anything about it. So he returned. It almost felt dirty to think about her like this, detached from her, far away, not knowing where she was. But it excited him too. Whenever these thoughts entered him she was always around, and he could catch her arm and let them seep into her ear. Briefly he thought of the blush that claimed her neck and face whenever he toed the line. The blush didn't last, usually never did, especially once he'd sunken his cock into her. On the warpath, and last time, she'd bit her hand to stay quiet, but he remembered the way she would cry out, mewl and grip his arms and whisper his name over and over and over. In slow motions he began to stroke himself, feeling oddly vulnerable and even more aroused sitting like this with his legs open, cold water touching parts of him that were newly sensitive to the sensation. Aimlessly he fingered his own tip and used the precum to make his shaft slick, easy. Below the water Miraak's free hand curled into the fine sand and dirt and little rocks of the streambed.

What had started as dipping his toes had become completely drowning himself in memories of her, of Tharya, of her tight little clit obediently taking all of his stiff cock, of her palms spread on his stomach while she rocked her hips with the guidance of his hands, of the way she would whine when he gripped her and flipped them over and dug his hips into her one hard thrust at at time. Of the way she would claw at his arms, beg to be kissed, curl her toes and moan for him if and when he whispered the command against her ear, and he would relish in the obscene noises they created together and her face when she came undone all over his cock. He liked better yet the way her mouth opened when he kept going; legendary Yokudan stamina had made it a staple of their sex that one of his orgasms equaled nearly two of hers. He remembered the tears that would touch her eyes--good tears, she assured him the first time they had sprung there. Gods, what a darling little submissive she was. Fucked perfectly she would cry, always eager to please--it wasn't in her nature to be coy or bratty but it _was_ in his. What a darling little submissive--who liked to be called _good girl_, even though she wouldn't admit it in her wildest dreams, and who liked to end her nights utterly spent and wrapped in his arms-

It was all of this that finally made his jaw release with a gasp as his cock spilled over, and even then he milked himself for everything he had until his brown knuckles had been painted white. _Tharya._ At this point she would smile as he rolled his hips into her, having peaked at an orgasm and letting them both down slowly, slowly, riding it out until his thrusts were languid and almost soothing. He thought of her little mewl whenever he pulled out. He thought of the way she reached for him, pulling him back to comfort. Without thinking he sank back into the river, affectionately and slowly fisting his cock with an edge of a squeeze until he felt the way Tharya looked after he'd thoroughly ploughed her. He couldn't help it; the first, and only, strangled moan left his sealed lips.

The only thing that could've made this moment perfect--besides of course if it had been his lover's little hand or even her mouth that had pleasured him so--was if she was here to drape herself against his chest with a content sigh, still a little tender, a little squirmy, but content nonetheless. Here she'd stroke his hair and kiss each inch of his face, familiarize herself once again with his scars. Put her cheek on his heart and rub his chest or his arms and they'd murmur quietly and lovingly to each other, content with the tired caresses of each other's hands. Content.

_No,_ he thought to himself, _her mouth is too little_, and they hadn't tried that before. She would've brought it up--but then again, maybe she was too frightened to. He grinned a little at the prospect.

But it was just him and the river washing his seed away as he spread out and caught his breath. Just him, the river, and the ever faithful night sky above.


	7. Doorframe (Skyrim)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe i wrote this at 11 pm, sorry in advance because it SUCKS & no i didn't proofread but not sorry for brunwulf's war table (also if you don't think miraak would show off by fucking stand up you're wrong, he's a super show off it boosts his ego)

It was hard to believe that the man she saw seated at the table was a man at all. For a moment she thought he was asleep in that chair, sitting with his knees spread and his head aimed at the window, chin held between his gloved fingers. In the darkness she couldn't even see the rise and fall of his chest, and over the rain she couldn't hear his breathing. The pale, greyish moonlight filtering in through the windows only caught portions of his face, casting his eyes in shadow but touching his lips and jaw with illumination. It was hard to believe he was a man at all, sitting so quietly and so firmly rooted to the earth upon which he lived, so unmoving like a statue. It was hard to believe, but then he spoke. 

"I know you are staring at me." 

His voice was tired, his accent thick and rugged, but his words were a little jest. Tharya had no idea how he could always feel her eyes on him, even for the briefest handful of seconds, but each time without fail he did. 

"You weren't in bed, so I went looking." She said softly from the doorway. Even though she couldn't see it she knew his eyes slid to look at her.

"I couldn't sleep." 

"So you came and sat at the war table?" She chuckled gently, taking a few steps forward. Undoubtedly his eyes slid over her figure in the dappled moonlight. She knew his mannerisms all too well by now. 

"Even though it hurts, the sound of rain is oddly soothing," Miraak admitted at long last, looking back to the windows. "Like one of Mona's lullabies that I can't quite remember," he added absently. Tharya let silence settle over the room as a flash of lightning lit it; lightning that, for the smallest of seconds, revealed Miraak's entire figure to her. In that second she saw his face, his hair mussed and tangled from running his hands through it, his eyes alert but heavy, needing rest. The broad expanse of his shoulders cast a distorted shadow on the floorboards behind him. His robes looked untouched from earlier.

"You didn't come to bed," Tharya realized slowly, remembering his gloves. Though she had guessed it to begin with. 

"No," he hummed. "I spoke with Brunwulf for a time. He's very...macho, for an egalitarian." 

"_ You're _ very macho." She reminded him, moving forward again until she was standing between his open knees. His knees which, she noticed, were the height of the table itself. And a war table was not made for sitting at. A gradual movement caught her eye and she watched as he lifted one hand to his mouth, catching the index fingertip of his lefthand glove between his teeth and giving it a pull. He repeated the action until the glove was loose enough to pull off, and placed his elbow on the table so she could see his hand in the moonlight. It looked disembodied, since the darkness swallowed everything above his elbow. Another flash of lightning. He was staring at her. In one precise move his index finger curled back to him, gesturing her closer. 

It was a little difficult as he took his righthand glove off in the same fashion as the other, but she managed to situate herself comfortably on his lap with strong thighs below her and hips between her legs. Warm hands slid below the hem of her shirt to mold around the smallest part of her waist, fingers touching on either side. 

"This is my shirt," he noted quietly. 

"That shouldn't come as a surprise." 

"Nothing has come yet." His lips flashed a grin and then leaned forward to press against hers in a delicate kiss. Outside the delayed thunder—two lightning strikes worth—rumbled over Windhelm, and then with a furious _ crack _ split the quiet rain. The entirety of the Palace of the Kings seemed to shake as another booming noise assaulted it, the windows trembled, and they both jolted against each other. The thunder resided until it was needed again, and Tharya felt him mirror her amused smile against her lips. Scared by thunder? _ Them? _ Who'd fought vampires and demons and Daedric Princes?

She supposed thunder held some merit of its own, especially intruding on a moment that was oddly tender for the dead of night, when most people slept soundly in their beds. 

"Are you going to sleep in these robes? Boots and all?" She teased, her voice nearly a whisper despite being the only two people awake to hear. "I can tell you right now that isn't a good idea." Without much thought her fingers found the hem of his outermost robe and followed it down to where each side met, just below his sternum, held by a small clasp concealed on the inside. Her progress was interrupted when he kissed her again, capturing her lips in a smooth dance before working towards her jaw and settling on her neck. 

"You aren't helping." 

"I wasn't trying to." He teased, nipping her earlobe before sealing his mouth over the soft underside of her jaw. Both hands splayed against her back, the heat of his skin making her spine feel frigid in comparison. She managed to push the outer layer off his shoulders and down to the crook of his elbows. The second and last layer—since these were only _ spring robes _ , which meant fewer layers and much lighter fabric—proved a bit more challenging. It was more fitted than the outer one, clasped as the base of his throat all the way down to where it tucked into the hem of his pants. She only managed in getting the first few buttons undone; being on the _ inside _ they were much harder to grapple with from the outside. But it was enough, three or four down, to slide her palms below the fabric and spread them against his chest. 

"You're a handsy little thing," he rumbled against her neck, scraping his teeth over her skin. Securing both arms around her—a feeling she'd never tire of, being grasped so effortlessly and safely in such muscular limbs—he rose from the chair with a little grunt of effort. Lightning flashed over her closed eyes, and this time the thunder pounced almost as immediately as the lightning itself.

Tharya tangled her fingers into his hair only after she succeeded in two things: undoing more buttons and pushing his shirt down to expose his shoulders. Wrapping her arms around his neck brought him back up to kiss her lovingly, languidly enjoying her lips with his own before pressing his tongue past them. He was moving towards the stairs, the open door, but paused in the threshold to press her back to the cold stone. "If you keep undressing me with your lovely little hands I think I may take you here and now," he whispered against the soft shell of her ear. Despite his words his voice was...soft. Temperate. For just a moment he pressed his weight against her, leaving his arms to shrug off his robe and pull his shirt free from his waist, only to guide her hands towards the remaining buttons. "Finish what you started for me, little one." Again he spoke so kindly, so gently it almost didn't seem to make sense. But she was forgetting, as it was so easy to forget, that he of all people did not lack a tender heart. He, of all people, could be compassionate and loving when he wanted to. One arm slid free of the garment, returned to her, and then the other followed suit, but then he tugged lightly on her shirt and nudged her nose with his. "_ I _ want to be handsy too." A fake pout played at his lips and she rolled her eyes. 

"Poor doorframe." Tharya giggled, grabbing the hem of the shirt. 

"Good doorframe. He's helping me keep you up," Miraak grinned. "Though I could probably manage on my own." 

"You're just a show off." She wiggled her arms out of the sleeves and then pulled it off, instinctively bringing him closer to cover herself. 

"_ Dii rahhe, _" he groaned softly, "you are so beautiful." Miraak pulled himself away just enough to lean down and kiss her neck, her throat, her breasts, closing his mouth around each nipple in turn. It was a shocking contrast, the wet and warm of his mouth against the cold stone and damp air, and it made gooseflesh of her arms and legs. "I meant what I said about taking you here and now," he breathed into the space between them. "There are other things I could do but I think," another slow, meaningful kiss, "I think I just want to make excellent love to you against this doorframe." Tharya giggled again, because he was the only person who seemed to get her to do that, and nodded once. 

"Then I think you should do that. Although," she hummed, "this doorframe, or do you want to switch sides?" 

"Oh, I hadn't thought of it. Perhaps a different doorframe altogether?" He suggested playfully, one hand dipping to where their bodies met to adjust her thighs, spread them further and them lock them back around his waist, hiking her up against the wall so they were nearly eye-level. "I saw a rather large one earlier today, in that main hall." 

"Like the one that leads into and out of the palace?" She snickered, shaking her head. 

"Mmh, perhaps." He raised an eyebrow. "But it was _ very _ big. I did not think people needed such large doorframes." Another kiss, but this was one quick and routine. "I know I said I would make excellent love to you and nothing else, but I may have lied." Tharya gasped. 

"I'm wounded." 

"No, you would be, but fortunately I am a quick thinker." He grinned as one hand found its way between her legs. His elbow had to bend at an awkward angle but it was more than worth it for the _ real _ gasp that left her lips as he rubbed the tip of his index and middle finger against her through the fabric. "And trust me, little one," he leaned closer to her ear, "there is no way you can take someone my size without being eased into it."

The mere thought of him filling her was enough to make her mouth water; something she was glad he couldn't see or hear, because it made her cheeks flare with embarrassment and her stomach twist with anticipation. "Two fingers," he murmured sweetly, "is our benchmark. You know of safewords? Give me one." Gods, he _ was _ a quick thinker. Not that she had doubted it, but she had barely strung together a coherent thought since before she'd come down here to find him. 

"Uhm...seaweed." Miraak pulled back to give her a quizzical look, his shoulders vibrating as he chuckled.

"_Seaweed? _ You are strange, woman." 

"Hey, you a-ah-" just as she spoke he pushed her underwear aside to stroke his fingertip against her clit, "-asked. Bastard." Her hands moved to grasp his shoulders, squeezing them in unison with the jump of her hips when he flicked her clit again. 

"Take these off for me, sweet thing," he purred, kissing her when she clumsily lifted her hips away from the wall enough to pull the offending garment away. He curled his fingers into it and removed it one leg at a time, and when his hips nestled back between hers she could feel the prominence of his crotch. She had no idea how he was still torturing himself with pants. "Start with one. Relax your back," he crooned, "I'll take care of you. Just relax." It took some deep breaths but she finally was able to ease the taut rope of her spine, and she did he took the opportunity to sink his middle finger past her folds. The moan that left her lips was muffled into his shoulder and accompanied by a flash of lightning. "Relax," he whispered again, "I would love to hear all your exquisite sounds, _ prinsaessa, _ but I'm afraid there are other people within a five mile radius." Tharya huffed but heard the lightness in his voice. When did he get so cocky?

Subconsciously she began rocking her hips to the easy thrusting of his hand, and before long he was murmuring something else to her and pushing his index finger in beside the first. "Good girl, just like that." She let her head drop to his shoulder, pushing into his neck to conceal the embarrassing string of mewls and whimpers that left her lips. He let his cheek rest against her hair. 

Carefully Miraak pressed his thumb to her clit and spread his fingers in a little scissor motion, relishing in the cut off moan that floated to his ears, the rest drowned out by thunder. Impatient of him, maybe, but his cock straining against his pants was edging closer to unbearable, and each thrust of his fingers into the deliciously tight pussy he so wanted to be in was making his mind hazy. 

"That...feels really g-good," Tharya mumbled shyly against his ear. Oh good gods, she was testing his resolve. Whether she knew it or not. His breathing became labored, his arms shaky with anticipation and desire. His resolve, and his strength. He had no doubts he could keep her up like this, but... 

Change of plans. Without hesitation he lifted Tharya off the wall and stumbled, walked, felt his way back to the war table. "Miraak-" realization touched her eyes the moment he set her down on the edge, placing a hand on her stomach to ease her back onto the wood. Before she could say anything else he removed his fingers, not missing the whine from below as her knees closed together. With his clean hand he pulled at the lacing of his pants, tugging it loose enough to reach past the hem and, feeling Tharya's eyes watching his every movement, pull his cock free. It was a sigh of relief that left his lips, and then a smirk pulling at them as he dragged his wet fingers over his length and caught her eyes from above. A splash of lightning illuminated to him her flushed face, her arms tucked against her chest, her eyes widening as they locked gazes and very quickly looking away.

"No," he reached for her chin and swiveled it back. "Eyes here." 

"I..I..." 

"You like what you see," he leaned down to kiss her slowly, "you like the prospect of me being inside of you, hm, little one?" Another kiss and he coaxed her tongue out with his own, lubricating himself in one hand with a combination of his own precum and her wetness. "Isn't that right? I said I'll take care of you, _ prinsaessa, _" both hands fell to her knees now, pushing them aside—to at least make enough room for his hips, he thought, but then thought better of it, and pressed them down against the war table. "I meant it." It took some restraint but when he shifted forward, all he did was drag the head of his cock between her folds, watching as she squirmed and bit her fist to keep quiet. But he watched it all intently, the beauty of her clit waiting to take him and the slow pulsation of his glistening cock waiting to take her. Gods, he wanted to see her face when he filled her. Wanted to hear her cry his name when she came for him, even if it woke the whole damn palace. Fine, let them watch. 

"M-Miraak..." she reached down for his wrist, breathing quickly. Gods, he wanted to fuck her. But he could have his fun. 

"Say please," he cooed, watching her face shift back into equal parts timid and embarrassed. 

"...please." 

"What do you want me to do?" A grin played at his lips. She frowned up at him. "Fine, fine. I'm aching to be inside this tight little clit of yours." Miraak leaned down towards her ear. "I'll let it slide this once." And slowly, giving her one last kiss and then watching her face intently, he pushed the head of his cock forward. She took him squirming, inch by inch, his girth stretching her more than his fingers had—by far. "There you go, good girl. Just like that, _ prinsaessa. _ Good girl. You feel exquisite," he moaned, "you take my cock so well, little one."

Halfway she nearly yelled his name but was quick to muffle it, locking her arms around his shoulders to block her voice from escaping. 

"O-oh...Miraak," she whimpered, gripping his hair, "Miraak, Miraak, Miraak..."

"Easy, sweet thing." His head fell to her shoulder. 

"You're so perfect. So tight for me." It felt like an eternity, an aching eternity, until he was fully seated inside of her. Lightning assaulted the haze of his vision and thunder rattled his ears, but none of it mattered. He had planned on sitting up but now he didn't want to leave her arms, or remove her from his embrace. "How does that feel?" All he got in reply was a senseless mewl as her legs closed around him. Just as carefully he dragged his hips back and pushed them forward again, sparks dancing across his body as her clit tightened only for him to force it wide once more. The stretch must be _ delightful. _ Once she grew accustomed to him, all however many inches—he didn't even care enough to remember at this exact moment—he set an easy but _ deep _ pace, the combination of prodding all her sweet spots and regular movement losing them both to the bliss. "You take my cock perfectly. So tight. There you go, just like that." After an experimental change in pace her back arched clear off the table, and he _ wished _ to all the gods he could've heard in full the moan she swallowed down. It gave him the chance to return his mouth to her throat, sucking and biting gently at all the soft skin he'd made love to earlier. 

"Oh--gods," she whined, "please don't stop, please. That..." 

"If it were up to me," he paused to wrestle down a moan of his own, "I wouldn’t." At that moment Miraak realized he probably should've closed the door behind him once he had decided to move for the table; the _ squelch _ and gentle collision of skin with each thrust in combination with their poorly muffled noises were probably enough to at least wake a light sleeper.

But truthfully he didn't care; if anyone did wake up, they'd be kind enough to close the door themselves.

It all happened so quickly. For a moment she clung to him for dear life, and he _ swore _ he heard her beg him to make her cum, arms tightly slung around his neck as her toes curled against the curve of his back. "J-just don't stop," she mewled, letting out a pitched gasp he couldn't be bothered to smother with each thrust. This table must be sturdy. He felt a pang of comical guilt for Brunwulf, who'd have to sit here tomorrow morning... "Don't...oh, gods, please..." 

"Cum for me, _ prinsaessa, _ " he growled out, "go ahead. Cum all over my cock. Tell me how good it feels." For a second he pulled her lips into a heated kiss. " _ Cum for me. _ " Even though she did, spilling herself over his length, he didn't, couldn't find it within himself to stop. _ Curse that Yokudan stamina, _ but just this once. He did slow, however, to pry her off the table and stagger back a few steps from it, hooking her knees over his elbows and doing his best to support her back. The swing of his hips was enough momentum to slam forward, the remnants of her orgasm plastered now against her inner thighs. The clap of skin each time their bodies met was much more defined as he steeled himself and effectively bounced her onto his cock with the force of each thrust. "Oh-- _ fuck, _ " he groaned deeply, burying his nose in her hair. "I'm going to fill you up, _ prinsaessa _ , fill you with my cock and all my cum." Both hands sat like padlocks on her hips. "Fuck. You're so tight for me, _ prinsae... _" he cut himself off with a rocky moan, "such a good girl. Fill this pretty little clit of yours." She pulled his hair almost to the point of pain, whining about a second orgasm, digging her nails into his back as she scrambled for purchase. His thrusts went frantic, his voice rising until he blew, groaning, feeling his hot seed flush out overpower her own orgasm and fill her to the brim. He kept his hips locked there, making sure everything he had was hers before he felt his shoulders begin to relax.

Quietly and gradually they caught their breath, pulling back to kiss one another lazily, enjoying the bodily fatigue that claimed them limb by limb. 

"So you didn't need the doorframe," she whispered breathily, gently stroking his hair as an apology for pulling it. Even as she said it his knees grew weak from the sudden and prolonged exertion, standing without aid in the center of the room. 

"_ Nid, _" he groaned back, placing a little kiss on her cheek. "I told you so." 

"That was, uhm..." she hid her face in his neck, "impressive." 

"Oh?" He chuckled, glancing to the chair this had all started in. _ Technically _ his pants were still on, so he could... 

"I mean...not many people...could, you know, _ do that. _" She peered at him, chewing her lip. "I'm saying you're strong and it's hot." A little laugh left Miraak's chest. 

"Ah. Thank you for the clarification, sweet thing," on uncertain legs he made his way towards the chair. "And thank you for the compliment." He murmured against her ear. With a groan he sat back down, uncaring whether or not Brunwulf or anyone would be sitting in his same chair come morning. It's not like they had made love _ in the chair. _ The table, now, that was an altogether different story. But a good one. Tharya made a little noise as his softened cock pressed into her, now with her hips nestled against his in his lap she didn't have much space to move. "Just a moment, little one." He closed his eyes and let his head fall back. "I'm old and need my moment's rest." 

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're thirty." 

"Old." Miraak rubbed his hands up and down her sides. As he did he cracked one eye open, sliding his hands around the smallest part of her waist like he had not too long ago, his fingers touching on either side. "You are so little." 

"Your hands are pretty big," Tharya chuckled. "Like, freakishly big." 

"Ooh, that hurts." He pouted.

After a moment she draped herself against his chest, sighing heavily against his neck and closing her eyes. Outside the rain continued, the lightning came and the thunder clashed. Outside the world slept, except for them. Slowly the chill in the room began to creep back into their warmed skin, and the call of a nice warm bed—as opposed to a stiff wooden chair too small for his stature—was undeniable. He thought of lifting her off his cock but figured it would be better saved for the privacy of their own quarters, where there would be towels handy. That and he liked the sensation. "Oh," he muttered suddenly, "how does a bath sound?" 

"It's nearly one in the morning," Tharya replied. 

"I repeat my question." 

She was quiet for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, a bath sounds good, actually. We have to pick up our clothes though." He groaned theatrically. 

"Ugh. Isn't there servants for that?" 

"Not for _ us _, dummy." A snicker left her lips. "And what makes you think some maid is gonna come pick up my underwear at one in the morning because we asked?" 

"A smart maid looking to keep her job." 

"Well, you're wrong." She sat up and kissed his forehead, but seemed loathe to remove herself from him, just like he was. "Now you have to carry me." He gave her a knowing wink, reveled in her blush, and put both arms around her as he stood. 

"Yes, yes, leave it all to the old man..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was thinking of posting a chapter or two about nsfw headcanons i have for miraak/tharya + other characters???? do i bother??


	8. No (Skyrim)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i needed to write miraak/dukaan. i just had to. i woke up at 8:30 am to write miraak being a bottom for the first and only time in 4500 years. please enjoy. it is not proofread. (also miraak has the NICEST butt and you can't change my mind)

Miraak's cock slid easily down his throat again, and Dukaan splayed his hands against the other man's hips to keep him there, his nose brushing Miraak's stomach. He sighed happily around the shaft before drawing back again, tongue swirling at the tip, and then letting the length slip down into his throat once more. Above him Miraak groaned deeply, head lolling backwards.

"Please let me?" He asked when he drew back again, smiling up at the Yokudan. Dukaan had never seen him so malleable; usually when someone had their mouth around him he was bossy, pushing heads and pulling hair, husking out commands. Not this time though, and that was a first. They were in the kitchen—what had started as a harmless kiss had somehow turned to this, and Dukaan briefly wondered if they should move somewhere else for the sake of cleanliness of the Last Dragonborn's home—and Miraak's hands were clutching the edge of the wooden counter, his brown knuckles bony and white. He was breathing heavy, no shirt, pants hardly undone and sitting loosely around his hips, and quite clearly enjoying himself. "Are you..._ blushing? _" 

"No," Miraak snapped weakly, looking down at him. His bottom lip was angry red from where he'd been biting it. He _ was _ blushing; the other man's face was colored a deep ruddy brown, from his neck to the tips of his ears. It made a pretty sight, the crimson mixing with earthy brown.

"You're so beautiful when you blush," Dukaan smiled, wrapping his hand around the man's cock. "Please?" 

"_ No _," the Dragonborn said again, but his resolve was slipping. 

"I only want to take care of you, my love," he crooned, "you know you would like it, you just have to _ relax. _" From the slump in his shoulders he was trying to keep himself guarded but failing. Miraak heaved a sigh as Dukaan peppered kisses along his shaft, watching his belly, chiseled with taut muscle, expand and deflate as he breathed.

"Come now. It must be tiring, always being in charge." His tongue flicked out to trace the thick vein running along the underside of the length in his hand. "Wouldn't it be nice to let someone look after you?" Miraak didn't reply. In the silence Dukaan huffed quietly and then wrapped his lips back around the Dragonborn's cock, grasping him by the hips, and then finding his hands wrapped around the perfectly firm spheres of Miraak's ass. He groaned around the Yokudan who jumped at the sound reverberating through his thighs and into his groin. He wasn't usually jumpy—so he really must be slipping after all.

When Dukaan pulled away he exhaled a hot breath that fanned out against Miraak's thighs, giving his cock a few languid pulls as he licked his lips. The Yokudan was breathing hard, his mouth hung open and eyes half-closed as he looked down at the other man, running his fingers lightly through Dukaan's inky hair. "You have the perfect cock," he murmured, tentatively kissing the tip, licking it, freeing his other hand to cradle his balls. Miraak jumped at the touch, his hands turning to fists in Dukaan's hair. Dukaan hummed in thought before leaning forward to take one in his mouth, pumping his hand slowly around the length of Miraak's cock, his eyes traveling upwards to lock the other man's gaze. 

The First Dragonborn looked torn between utter submission and barking a command; submission wasn't his style, but it seemed to be what he was leaning towards, with pitiful, whining moans and his brow loose to display the full pleasure on his flushed face. 

_ Flushed. _ Dukaan hadn't seen color touch his cheeks in so long, he almost didn't recognize it here and now.

Finally he was satisfied and leaned back on his thighs again, spreading his hands against Miraak's stomach. "Turn around," he breathed. Golden eyes widened. 

"No," Miraak whispered.

"Please?" Dukaan reached around to dig his fingers into that perfect ass again, kneading it with an appreciative groan. "I would love to put my face between these cheeks." 

"_ No, _" Miraak rasped, tugging his hair. What was that, that fourth time he’d said no? The Roscrean chuckled as he got to his feet, pulling the fellow Priest forward to rest against his chest. 

"Relax, pretty boy," he soothed. The First Dragonborn had never seemed small before, but leaning here with his cheek to the other man's chest he surely felt...different. Miraak took the opportunity to catch his breath and close his eyes. 

After a moment Dukaan reached for his chin and tilted his head up, letting the Yokudan's jaw rest on his sternum. He almost looked _ innocent _ , like this, his eyes big and his face lazy with pleasure. "You _ are _ beautiful, you know?" Dukaan murmured with a smile, running his fingers through chocolatey brown hair. "My lovely, beautiful little Dragonborn who can kill me with a word." They both chuckled at that, and gently Miraak straightened out and put his hands on Dukaan's hips. "Will you turn around for me now?" He asked sweetly, stroking the other man's face.

Instantly his features fell, and a certain kind of guarded worry overtook him. Dukaan could see he was fighting it, though--he was trying to remain open, but his intuition was telling him otherwise. After a minute of watching this battle, he frowned, and put a hand over Dukaan's eyes. 

"Close your eyes," he said, hardly above a breath, a whisper. 

"Only if you kiss me," Dukaan said cheekily. With a grumble Miraak obliged him, planting a long, languid kiss against his lips, gently pressing his tongue into his mouth. Before he could lose himself though, the Roscrean took his waist and twisted him away, breaking their kiss, so Miraak's back was completely to him. He kept his eyes shut. "Now imagine if your little Nord was right in front of you," he hummed, bowing his head to kiss and suck Miraak's shoulder, rubbing his hips generously. "Her legs spread for you the way you like, her little clit _ aching _ for your cock," as he spoke he wrapped one hand firmly around the Yokudan's dick and stroked it lightly. "She wants you to fill her just as perfectly as you always do, my love. She wants you to pound her little clit and suck her breasts and make her cry for you...can you imagine it?" Unknowingly the Yokudan's hips gyrated slowly against Dukaan's hand, a low rumble leaving his throat, his pupils blown wide. "What a nice threesome that would make," Dukaan commented absently. 

"Why?" Miraak growled, and Dukaan debated his cryptic question before grinning.

"I like getting you worked up, beautiful," he purred, "it's hot to see you so _ intent _ ; selfishly, just so I can make you come down again." He reached for one leg and grabbed the back of Miraak's thigh, hitching it upwards against the counter. "I'm about to make you into my own little mess, beautiful. I want to see your face when someone else fills _ you _ up with their cock, and stuffs you full of their cum."

He abandoned all other actions to grab his cock and pump himself a few times. It wasn't his favorite but he had to open his eyes a little to see what he was doing--and gods, what a pretty sight it was. Never in his life did he think Miraak Althëasson, of all people, would let his guard down enough for this. This was total trust. Complete and utter reliability on Dukaan's unspoken promise to guard his wellbeing while he was, more or less, not even in the right mindset to think about it. The muscles in his shoulders were bunched and tight, the same in his lower back, his hips rigid. Even so, he had never thought he would get the Yokudan here, and still the sight was a gorgeous shock to the system. 

"Relax," Dukaan murmured, gently rubbing his sides. "Don't be so tense." Even now he wasn't _ completely _ giving himself up. Miraak could've been laying down, or bent over something, or on his back with his legs pushed apart. _ That _ would be total submission. In this way his body was still rigid, still formed enough that Dukaan couldn't bounce him on his cock like he could if Miraak was bent over the counter--couldn't pound into him like he could if he was laying down, or gods, on his hands and knees. That image danced briefly across his eyes. He thought of the way his hips would slam into that perfectly firm, round ass, of the way the other man's back could arch and dip and--no, this way, Miraak still had some semblance of control over his body's movements. He wasn't willing to give it all up just yet.

"Relax, my love," he cooed, rubbing Miraak's shoulders. "I'll take care of you, I promise. I should've used something to stretch you out first," Dukaan nipped his earlobe, "but relax. I know you, and I promise I'll take care of you. You need only trust me." He reached for his cock again and used his free hand to find the Yokudan's hole and circle it lightly, pressing against it. "It will hurt a little, but I believe you would grumble and say you're accustomed to pain if you your mind was working right now," as he spoke he teased the first knuckle of one finger past the tight ring of muscle and Miraak jumped in surprise. Dukaan stilled him gently. "But I will take care of you. Imagine," a smile crossed his lips, "imagine how good it would feel to be fucked like this, on your face and knees, with your legs spread for me?" He pushed the finger deeper, and the Yokudan gasped loudly, clawing back to find some kind of purchase to hold onto. "Would you let me make love to you like that, my darling?" The finger curled and swirled and he reached his base knuckle. "I'd love to dress you up sometime. You would look so beautiful in pretty lace," Miraak mumbled something incoherent as Dukaan hummed against the soft part of his ear, burning hot, just like his face. "Silk, too. Something sheer. Would you dress up for me, my love? Some pretty lingerie? You would look beautiful." As he spoke he retracted his finger and felt the Yokudan's hips relax as he did; then, keeping his thumb over the other man's hole he guided his cock to it, rubbing his tip against it with firm pressure before slipping it in.

Dukaan felt the muscles in Miraak's torso crunch together, felt his body close itself to the intrusion, but again went to soothe him with plenty of rubbing and soft words. As he did he pressed each inch of his cock in slowly, until at long last his hips were nestled warmly against the Dragonborn's backside and he sighed in content. He wished he could open his eyes just once to see what a pretty sight Miraak made, now with the addition of his cock. 

"How do you feel?" His only response was Miraak grabbing the hand stationed on his hip, squeezing it in a death grip before loosening his hold. "Fine," he grit out--he was returning to his usual self, his hard vocabulary and his closed off attitude. No, no no no. That simply wouldn't do. Slowly Dukaan began rocking himself in and out, shallow at first. He wound his arms around Miraak and brought his back to his chest, fingers lightly rubbing his nipples. "No, no, my love. Tell me how it feels," he crooned, "how does it make you feel, taking someone's cock inside you for the first time?" A sharp inhale as he squeezed each nipple between his fingertips and then let go, rubbing his hands over Miraak's chest, tight and broad with muscle. "Please?" He whispered with a fake little pout.

After a moment the Yokudan sighed shakily, and reached down for his neglected cock. 

"Ah-ah. Let me take care of that, beautiful," Dukaan chided, and replaced his hand. "You focus on your words, young man." Miraak huffed something inaudible but instead wound his arm back around the other man's neck, bringing his lips close to the Roscrean's ear. 

"Maybe your dick isn't so small after all." 

Dukaan barked out an amused laugh, feeling the Dragonborn smile against his cheek before kissing it. A short little whine left his lips as Dukaan dragged his cock out and pushed all the way back in, and with a hint of eagerness Miraak pushed back against him when he did it again. 

"Oh, yes, please moan into my ear," Dukaan groaned. "I want to hear everything, darling." He took this as initiative to speed up, matching the pace with his hand wrapped around the Dragonborn's shaft, fingering his tip while the slap of his hips became audible. Miraak immediately opened the floodgates for an endless stream of moans and whimpers, all an octave or two higher than his normal voice, his fingers latching again into Dukaan's hair. With his leg held up and his torso twisted back he was in an odd position, but didn't seem to care. And then, finally- 

"Oh..._ fuck, _ that feels so good." It was a groan, loud and low against his ear, and as soon as he said it Dukaan rammed his hips forward. Miraak's breath caught in a pathetic whine. "Fuck me _ that _ hard, or I'll-"

"You're in no position to be making demands, my love," Dukaan growled. Without thinking he drew one hand back and let it fall harshly against the Dragonborn's ass, eliciting a short yelp.

Despite his words he plowed upwards into Miraak exactly as hard as he wanted, judging his pleasure by the pitch and volume of each noise he made. A million filthy things flew through his mind but he settled on the kinder ones, appreciatively rubbing the sphere of the other man's rear before slapping it again. _ Some day I'm going to bend you over my knee and spank the cocky bastard right out of you, Miraak Althëasson. _

"You are so tight," he whispered, "so tight, all for me, beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that before? How pretty and tight your ass is?" In a show of affection he clasped the Yokudan to his chest and found the crook of his neck to kiss. 

"Dukaan, I-I-" Miraak swallowed down a guttural moan as the other Priest finally lifted his head, chestnut brown eyes wide open and set with determination. For a moment it was all Dukaan could do to examine the pitifully submissive expression on his lover's face, open and completely unguarded. So beautiful. A thin film of sweat covered his forehead and his bottom lip was swollen from being bitten and sucked to try and contain himself. The steady jerk of his body, the hard breaths leaving his lips, the way his eyes fluttered and rolled when he moaned--it was almost too much. All things he had never seen Miraak do before, he was seeing now, in complete openness and vulernability. "Please cum inside me," he murmured, and Dukaan nearly shouted. 

"Only if you look at me when you cum," he whispered back. "I want to see your face the moment you spill in my hand, and I want to know what you look like when all my cum is inside you." He blushed again, bit his lip again, and nodded once.

It took another hit to his ass, a bruising kiss, and pressing his hips flush against the edge of the counter for Dukaan to pound him properly, and he could've shouted again when Miraak whined his name, once, then twice. His pace was frantic around the Dragonborn's cock and finally he came, roughly, his body going taut as a rope and hips slamming the counter hard enough they would bruise, thrusting his weeping tip deep into Dukaan's palm as hot cum painted the Roscrean's closed fist. Dukaan peered over his shoulder and opened his palm to see the mess, and Miraak moaned his name again, and without thinking he grabbed the Yokudan's hip and held him still as he thrusted into him at a dizzying pace before his cock seized and throbbed and shot out a thick rope of cum, one after the other. 

He looked up at just the right time. Miraak's face was both twisted and smooth, his brows knit high together but his mouth agape, his eyes rolling before squeezing shut, his jaw loose but neck rigid. It took a moment and a couple of hard thrusts but finally Dukaan slowed and lightened his hold on the other man's hip. Heavy panting filled the kitchen and he stroked the First Dragonborn's cock languidly before letting his leg down. "You look so hot when you cum," he admitted with a weary chuckle. Miraak leaned forward onto his elbows to catch his breath, for a moment affording the Roscrean with a view of him bent over, and the slowly fading crimson handprints on his skin. Dukaan thrusted shallowly into him, catching the way his legs trembled. "You look so good when you're full."

When Miraak stood straight again he pressed himself back into the man behind him, allowing his chin to be grabbed and turned so he could be kissed. The other Priest's hands roamed his body slowly, soothingly. "So, the mighty Miraak Althëasson is finally brought off his pedestal," he teased. "What would your little Nord think?" 

"No," Miraak muttered—a fifth time. "You will keep this to yourself if you value your life, Roscrean."

"Of course. I only joke." Dukaan patted his stomach lightly. In truth he was shocked and somewhat honored Miraak had seen fit to let himself be taken. Seen fit to let _ Dukaan _ to be the one to do it. He wouldn't forget his anytime soon, but he, of course, would keep the memory of that face locked tightly behind his lips. He could tell a tale if Miraak had been the one to dominate him, but the other way around...well, it was simply protecting his most tender feelings. That, Dukaan knew, was of the utmost importance to Miraak. "Thank you, my love. You are wonderful in every way." The Yokudan merely hummed in response. 

"Allow me one last victory?" 

"Hm?" 

"I am going to carry you upstairs," Dukaan smiled brightly against his neck. 

"No you are not. Do you know how much I weigh?" 

"And then I am going to clean you off, and sit in a hot bath with you, and rub your shoulders and kiss you until you fall asleep." Lightly he turned Miraak in his arms, winding his limbs around the other man. "And then I am going to carry you to bed, and kiss you, and let you sleep until your little wife gets home."

Miraak looked skeptical. "Oh, come now. You can't weigh much more than Vahlok?" The Yokudan laughed quietly, a genuine smile taking over his features.

"My brother is a twig. I do not think you can carry me, but-" he was cut off as Dukaan hefted him into his arms with a short grunt, and he looked down in surprise. "But you can certainly try." Happily the Miraak wound his arms and legs around the other Priest, nuzzling into his neck. Yes, a bath sounded good right now. 

"You _ are _ heavier than I expected." 

"I told you, you oaf."


	9. NSFW Alphabet (Miraak)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got bored, and couldn't decide if i should write this in terms of "you", "his partner", or "tharya", so just assume anything here goes for all three. may update later if i decide i want it to be tharya-centric

**A - Aftercare **

Miraak is practically the king of aftercare. Give him a minute or two to relax himself and he’ll immediately fawning over his partner, asking if they need anything, cleaning them up, getting them tea or bringing them to a hot bath. He loves loves loves to cuddle. He generally doesn’t ask for much but sometimes he will want a massage or to have his hair played with.

  
  


**B - Body part**

On himself he obviously enjoys his dick but also his chest and hands. He enjoys his partner touching his chest because it is the center of his power, more or less—since his Voice is not pure and harmonious like Tharya, his Thu’um is a much more throaty, bellowing sound that almost always originates in his chest.

On his partner, he’ll adore anything, but he is definitely a legs/ass man so he’ll always pay close attention to those.

  
  


**C - Cum**

Man cums a lot. He has a lot of stamina so it may take a couple normal people orgasms for this behemoth to blow. He always wants to cum inside his partner, but will oblige requests for belly, backshots, chest and face.

**D - Dirty Secret**

Honestly? He doesn’t have many. Once he gets more comfortable out of Apocrypha, Miraak is very open with his sexuality—it’s a big part of him and also him as a Dragon Priest, so he has never really been ashamed of it. He’ll tell his partner most things up front.

(Call him _ my lord _ in or out of bed. No one’s called him that since the Merethic Era, so it’s devolved into a huge turn on. Also let him touch or put a hand on your throat—he'll never choke his partner, but he will, especially if they're Dragonborn like him, rest his hand on your neck and touch it a lot.)

**E - Experience**

So, let’s get one thing straight: in personal canon Miraak is a Priest of the Moth/School of the Moth, aka, a Dibellan Priest. Dibellan priests were much more versatile in ye Olden Dayes; he was in regular attendance for religious ceremonies which very often involved orgies, ritual sex and bathing, tantra, and whatever the Atmoran equivalent of the Kama Sutra was. On top of it, he had two concubines. On top of _ that _ , he’s a pansexual disaster on fire.  
  
So he has lots of experience.

**F - Favorite position**

Easily his favorite position is spooning--it's intimate, close, usually puts him around his partner's neck/ear area (perfect for the filthy shit he says), and gives him good access and good control. He also has go-tos like missionary (he will pull your legs every which way in this one) and cowgirl, loves to have someone ride him, and would go for a mating press occasionally. He _ will _ fuck standing up to show off his strength, and his partner _ is _ expected to notice it. Though he doesn’t hate it he doesn’t tend to go for positions like doggy style.

  
  


**G - Goofy**

Believe it or not, he can be pretty talkative. That doesn’t always necessarily translate to being funny, since most of it is dirty talk or praise, and as a Dibellan priest there is a certain level of reverence that he believes belongs in sex. But he will talk to his partner, and crack a few jokes depending on the mood.

**H - Hair**

He’s Yoku-Atmoran. He’s hairy. Man is a bear but it isn’t uncomfortable (at least, he's fine with it). He goes to great lengths to keep himself clean and presentable without altering his natural state. His partner can pull his hair (on his noggin) as hard as they want, but he’ll usually never pull theirs. Steer clear of the chest hair though, too many people have ripped out arm/chest hair by accident and that shit _ hurts. _

**I - Intimacy**

Miraak is...surprisingly intimate. It’s probably a result of his Dibellan priesthood, but even when he’s bruising someone’s hips and purpling their skin he’ll hold their hands and tell them how good they are or how beautiful they look and muster up the best kisses. He loves holding hands during sex, and loves being physically close to/as wrapped up with his partner as much as he can be.

**J - Jack off**

This is a bit of a risky venture; in Apocrypha he learned very quickly that any kind of self-touching was a blatant invitation to Hermaeus Mora, and thus, hasn’t done it in a while. He gets used to it again out of Apocrypha, but it still sets him on edge. If you ask him to jack off for you he happily will, because that is a safe environment, or if he’s particularly _ needy _ he will take a scorching hot and unusually long shower.

**K - Kink**

Oh man, where to begin? Size kink size kink size kink. Smaller than him? Perfect. He’ll rail you. Doesn’t matter if you’re skinny or chubby or fat, if you’re smaller than him (which most people are), you’re good. He also has a big breeding kink (see: cum) though he’s sterile. A praise kink, but it’s subtle. Not sure if cockwarming is a kink but that too? He likes overstimulating people too, but only sometimes.

**L - Location**

Usually in private. Doesn’t matter what the room is, as long as it’s private. He hates being interrupted, but will sometimes take risks at the edges of his/your comfort zone.

**M - Motivation**

Despite the copious amounts of sex in his past life, he just spent 4400 years in Oblivion. His sex drive was already fairly high, and once he gets comfortable out of Apocrypha it’s fairly high again. But if you bend over arcane enchanters even the slightest bit, _ beware. _

**N - No**

He will _ not _ do anything on himself that involves bondage or choking; he’s had enough of that and he hates feeling powerless, oftentimes it will remind him too much of Apocrypha. However he will oblige if his partner wants to be tied up, but not with rope, generally with magic or ribbon—things that break easily. He will _touch_ his partner's neck or put his hand on it (see: dirty secret) but will never grip it. He also doesn’t enjoy degradation of any kind, whether spewing it or receiving it. He will not fuck in public. 

**O - Oral**

Miraak was legendary within Dibellan follower circles for his sex, his dick, but also his mouth. He _ will _ devour you and it _ will _ be the best thing since sliced bread. Don’t be too surprised if you’re spent from just him giving oral (he’s not surprised either); he will swallow all your cum and dive right back in.  
  
On himself, he knows with his size it can be difficult, so he’ll happily take whatever you can give but he won’t force it. If you manage to astound the world by deepthroating or even just taking most of him he will have to consider options about using your mouth to cockwarm. It’s not exactly about how much, but what you do with what you can take.

**P - Pace**

Absolutely willing to do anything. He’s sexy dom dream daddy, but he’s also a big service dom. Whatever pace you want, he’ll give it to you. Generally, he settles for something deep and medium in speed.

**Q - Quickie**

Doesn’t like them. Prefers to take his time (again because he’s a Dibellan priest, there is some amount of reverence in sex) and will try to avoid doing quickies unless absolutely needed.

**R - Risk**

As said before, he prefers private areas for sex, but sometimes he gets a little cocky. He’s not entirely against a long-lasting invisibility spell and fucking you in some hall in the Blue Palace, as long as you can stay quiet. He doesn’t often, but he may use magic (or a telepathic connection, if you’re a mage) to tease you in public/around other people.

**S - Stamina**

Also legendary for his stamina. Atmorans are famously large, but Yokudans are famously impossible to kill. Miraak can go for anywhere between 2-4 rounds (keep in mind one of his orgasms equals about two of anyone else’s), but he will rest a bit probably after 2.

  
  


**T - Toys**

Not against them, but doesn’t use them often. Sometimes the urge hits him and he will, maybe using something made of magic or, if you’re feeling adventurous, made of ice by his talented hands. He prefers using himself to pleasure his partner.

**U - Unfair**

He actually enjoys teasing his partner in public--not necessarily by touching them, but with his words. He'll whisper stuff in their ear or use their telepathic connection at the WORST times. But in bed he's ultimate service dom--anything they want, it's theirs, any time, any way.

**V - Volume**

Loud. He sees no reason to keep himself quiet, and actually quite likes hearing himself moan. He will hope his partner is the same, and will probably stay more quiet if they don’t make much sound.

**W - Wild Card**

Because Miraak is a different kind of Dragonborn than, say, Tharya or even Alessia, he is much more draconic than them. He makes rumbly noises that don’t sound entirely human (don’t be scared of it, just think of it like a huge, dangerous cat purring), and also has an odd state between human and dragon where, while still in his human form, golden scales cover parts of his body. Generally his arms and neck, though they sometimes go lower. These scales will definitely make an appearance during sex sooner or later, and they don’t mean anything bad; in fact, the scales are an indicator of immense emotion, so he’s feeling something very strong for or towards you whenever they do appear.

You are allowed to rake your nails over them, but he will go a little feral.

**X - X-ray**

Atmorans are famed for their great stature and great dicks. Though shorter than his kinsmen because of his Yokudan blood, he is no different. He’s veiny with the perfect amount of girth and (as much as I’d like to give him a massive dong, let’s be realistic) about 8”. As aforementioned, my man is hairy, but he goes to extra lengths to keep himself well groomed and probably misuses a lot of spells to get a close cut down there.

  
  
  


**Y - Yearning**

We already decided his sex drive is fairly high. Not crazy high, but above average, mostly because of the fact that he’s willing to have sex at any moment of the day or night. Again, since Miraak is a Special Kinda Dovahkiin, he inherited the dragons’ territorial personality and thus will always want to be around his partner. If it turns into sex, who cares. He doesn’t.

**Z - Zzz**

Generally, Miraak will only fall asleep after sex if it’s nighttime, early in the morning, or he’s feeling particularly lazy. Other times he’ll doze off a little with his partner, or stay up and talk to them, before (reluctantly) getting up and going about his day. If his partner falls asleep afterwards, no matter what time of day, he will stay in bed to stroke their hair and their face—both keeping his own watch while they sleep, and getting his daily quota of tender moments in.


End file.
